Clans of Luteri Ch. 02

Kane blew out his breath, relaxing his fist. He didn't have to make this decision yet. He needed more information. He still didn't understand how she possibly could have ended up in Alveria alone.

His thoughts turned to his friend downstairs and he winced. Lord Verain was a fat, pompous ass. But curiosity brought them to Jamie's door to meet the Luterian barbarian, and Jamie had a position to uphold, couldn't refuse to host too many of the powerful families with whom he associated. Kane didn't mind so much doing this for his friend, although he admitted he was tiring of it. But he understood kinship politics very well.

No wonder Jamie had sought adventure traveling the world. Shai, Alverians were dull.

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Kane stepped into the mansion on Lord Montrose's estate, into a hall through the door opened by a servant. Jaime had handed him the invitation with the date and instructions and its accompanying mask without comment three weeks ago. The room was lavish, fine art and furniture, and he saw several men lounging in the next room, sitting or standing. All of them were in the clothing of Alverian nobility and masked, like himself.

Jaime had arranged for a tailor to make him Alverian-style clothing when he had first arrived in Alveria and then had laughed to see them on him, but Kane supposed that was fair. He had laughed at Jaime the first time he'd worn Luterian clothing, laughed so hard Jaime had been insulted. It had taken several pints of Luterian ale for Jaime to lose his stiffness and speak naturally with him again.

A woman approached him. She was pretty, an Alverian redhead, tiny, barely reaching his chest. She looked like you could fold her up and put her in your pocket.

She was in a tight black dress that had important parts missing. Her small breasts were out and the dress exposed her sex, red pubic hair. Her nipples were pierced with small metal rings, a light chain running between them. She approached him and raised her arm, her hand coming behind his head, tangling in his hair, her nipples brushing his chest as she pressed her small frame against him.

Kane wasn't shocked. He'd seen this and more in Luterian brothels. They were similar to this, a spectacle with people enjoying similar pleasures, many more perverted than what he saw here. There were stage shows and public couplings.

At Luterian brothels, however, men and women willingly did these things, all of them. Nobody forced anyone. This woman hadn't chosen her role.

"I'm Bernadette," she said. "Can I get you a drink, Lord?"

"Savarine," Kane said.

She smiled, giving him a sidelong glance, and turned to walk away. Her retreat let him see that the dress exposed her ass, too, which was very round and bright red. The reason for that shortly became apparent as one of the men she passed grabbed her arm and whirled her around and put his hand on the back of her neck, pushing her head down. She immediately put her hands behind her back and spread her legs as the man landed several hard blows on her round bottom before letting her up, laughing.

"I am here, Katrine!" a man called from across the room, raising his hand high.

Kane looked where the man did. Another woman, a blonde with a haughty air, was in a less revealing dress, considerably. However, it was cut away again at her bottom and she had—Kane tilted his head, not quite believing it at first—a long tail sticking out of her ass like a horse. Kane's brows went up, watching it swish similarly as she walked. He hadn't seen that before. Yes, that was more perverted.

Kane walked into the next room. The next slave was tied upright on the far wall. She was not the Corsaire either. She was entirely naked, her legs spread, metal rings and rope holding her high, her breasts jutting out, immobilized and gagged. There were tear tracks on her face, her black kohl liner smeared with them, her eyes closed. There was a small sign in ornate letters mounted beside her that read "Punish Me," and a strap hanging on a long gold chain.

A man strolled by and touched her pussy, which had been shaved entirely bare, looking at her face. Her eyes opened and she sobbed around the gag. The masked Alverian lord turned his attention back between her legs, spreading her pussy lips carefully, taking up the strap and giving her a series of brisk smacks there that had her crying out, muffled.

"Are you looking to bid?" a voice said.

Kane turned. This would be his host, Lord Montrose, also masked. The invitation had made it clear that nobody was going to use names or titles here. Kane thought about it. He had no idea how one bought an Alvarian slave.

"Is she for sale?" Kane said, indicating the dark-haired woman in the restraints.

Lord Montrose's mouth smiled, the rest of his face obscured behind his mask, glancing at her.

"Isn't Lynette delicious? The three lovely women in these rooms are my personal collection. Lynette is still in training and requires correction when she doesn't listen. As a host, I share them once a year at this event. But if you are in the market for a companion, the viewing rooms are down the hall. There is a servant there for any questions you might have, including price of acquisition and rules for viewing."

"Rules?"

"Yes. My charges are not to be abused. Not yet, at least. I'm sure you understand. There is no touching them, no striking them, and conversation should be kept on general topics. They know their situation, but they can become upset. Potential buyers have the opportunity to speak with them and learn their mannerisms and temperament. At the end of the evening they will be stripped and put on display and then the bidding will begin."

"How many do you have?"

"There are currently four young ladies awaiting placement."

"Do you have any with dark hair like that one?"

Kane indicated Lynette with a gesture. Lord Montrose hesitated, his eyes dipping to Kane's weapon. Luterians were known for their wealth. Kane's weapon was Luterian, the sheath alone valuable, made of leather and Luterian wool. The man had to know who he was. Lord Montrose stepped closer, speaking in a lower voice, glancing around himself.

"I do have a fifth who meets your preference, but she is a special case, by invitation only. Extraordinarily beautiful, young and lush, very fresh. I can hardly bear to part with her. And, of course, she is quite expensive."

"I want to see her."

Lord Montrose eyed him.

"I would have to know that you would be interested in bidding, you understand, and not just in viewing a foreign novelty."

"Yes, I would bid, depending on the qualities of the woman," Kane answered, since this man seemed determined to speak about what they were doing as if the woman in question were a sheep.

"Then please come this way, Lord, if you will."

Lord Montrose walked to a hall, Kane following him. The Alverian lord withdrew a key and opened it, closing it behind them and locking it again. They strolled, Lord Montrose speaking.

"Unlike my other acquisitions, Emma is not yet aware she is being sold tonight—I didn't want to make her nervous, you understand, she is very new to all this, very fresh, as I said. However, like all of my charges, she is completely unconstrained by relationships. My acquisitions have no family and no friends. They have no connections to anybody else and nobody is looking for them. Their use is entirely free from consequences in that regard."

Jaime had already explained this to him. Emma was not a Luterian name. Kane wondered if the Corsaire was still somewhere on the property and not for sale yet. He might have to steal her.

"I have asked potential buyers," Lord Montrose continued, "to be sensitive and keep conversation on general topics that are light and unrelated. As I have said, she is fresh. And, of course, there is no touching her. Bidding will be private, and not a public affair as the others will be. The opening bid is six hundred hecs."

Kane didn't know what the man meant by the word fresh, but six hundred hecs was nothing. A hundred times that was still nothing compared to her value to Tavishi.

Lord Montrose stopped at double doors, his hands on the latches.

"At this point in the evening there is a bidder who has offered twice the opening bid amount. If you wish to bid above this, simply find me in the main rooms. Bidding will continue until the evening bell," Lord Montrose said, opening the doors for him and following him through.

Kane entered the large room. There was a dark-haired woman in the center with her back to the doors and three men around her. One man was slightly apart, drinking and staring at her with a brooding expression, and two others were speaking with her. She was wearing a scarlet red dress. She had a gorgeous figure from this angle.

"Emma," Lord Montrose said.

She turned and Kane suppressed a smile. There she was. Corsaire. Emma was not her name. She was hiding her Luterian heritage. She left the men and came toward them.

Unlike the two other women, her dress was complete. But it was still revealing, following her shape. It showed her neck and back and shoulders and the swell of her breasts, hugging her figure all the way to her ankles. Her hips—bliche hips—swayed as she moved toward them.

She was Corsaire stunning. He had to admit he hadn't seen a more beautiful woman, with her dark hair swept up on the sides and falling down her back. The costuming was a little much. False rubies—he assumed they were false, Lord Montrose was not that wealthy—were sprinkled throughout her hair, her full lips rouged lightly, kohl on her dark eyes, dramatic. Her cheeks were flushed.

"Lord Montrose," she said in Alverian when she reached them, giving Kane a glance from under long lashes, taking in his mask, his hair, his size, and then seeming to dismiss him. "May I please be excused?"

Kane hadn't heard her speak when he met her. How had she learned Alverian? Lord Montrose took her hand and raised it to his lips.

"Aren't you enjoying the party, Emma?" he asked her, a small smile playing on his mouth.

She withdrew her hand, smoothing her gown, frowning briefly at the neckline.

"I'm not feeling well, Lord Montrose," she said. "I would like to go to my room."

She cast a quick glance back at one of the men she had left, a thick man with graying hair, stocky, who was staring at her fixedly behind his mask, unsmiling and intent.

Lord Montrose sighed.

"I have told you, Emma, that I entertain my business associates. My guests are important to my financial affairs. You will be expected to mingle. I have explained that this would be a part of your duties in my household."

She sent Kane another glance, turning her shoulder against him a little.

"I don't belong here, Lord Montrose," she said very low. "I don't know to speak to these men."

Lord Montrose still had a smile.

"Was all your training wasted? What else have you been doing for weeks but learning to do so?"

Her cheeks flushed.

"They are teasing me, Lord Montrose. They are saying things. I have no talent for this. Please, I would like to leave."

Lord Montrose laughed, taking up her hand again. At his touch, a faint look of disgust and fear crossed her features.

"Of course they are teasing you, Emma. You are a beautiful woman, and your talents are evident regardless of what you say to them. You are just feeling shy. Look, you have already charmed my friend here. Why don't you offer him some refreshment."

"Lord Montrose, I don't want to be rude—," she began.

Lord Montrose stepped closer to her, interrupting her, leaning in, his voice losing its teasing tone and becoming cold, demanding.

"What you want doesn't matter even a little. You will stay here, you will be charming to these men, and you will not embarrass me by running away like a child or I will punish you like one. Do you understand?"

She looked away. She twisted her hands in her skirts. Lord Montrose stepped back, smiling lightly again.

"Now. Please offer my guest a drink."

She turned to Kane, not meeting his eyes.

"May I offer you a drink, Lord," she said, gesturing to two servant at the back of the room with liquor.

"I will see you later in the evening, Emma," Lord Montrose said to her, his voice returning to its light tone, turning around and leaving the room.

Her eyes followed him as Lord Montrose closed the doors behind himself. Kane gestured to the Corsaire to precede him.

"Lead the way, Emma," he said.

She walked toward the servants, but the intense man with the graying hair immediately stepped in her path. She stopped. He came close to her and she backed up a step. He followed, bringing his cheek close to hers.

"You were telling me how you like to ride, Emma," the man said softly, his eyes dipping to her breasts. "That you like to ride fast and hard."

She swallowed.

"I am only just learning, Lord," she said.

"I can see that," the man said. "And I'm going to teach you so much more. You'll be a good girl for me, won't you?"

She stepped back again and then tried to move around him, but he stepped with her and she stopped.

"There will be no more avoiding me, Emma, or you will regret it later," he said.

The man cast a narrowed glance at Kane, who was watching, but the man who had been standing with him approached, setting a hand on his arm.

"Don't yell at her, Br—," he said, stopping himself. "I'm sure Emma didn't mean it."

The gray-haired man snatched his arm away.

"Don't pretend you have the funds to match me, Dolan, and I'll do more than yell at her. I'll whip her common flesh if it pleases me."

Kane watched one of the servants slip quietly out the door. It seemed things were getting out of hand. The insulted Alverian lord flushed, the red creeping in lines down his cheeks, but the Corsaire went pale, backing away from them, her eyes darting to their masked faces.

She bumped into the third man behind her, who was grinning. She whirled around as he caught her wrist, squeezing until his knuckles went white. She cried out and jerked at it. He held on easily, giving a soft laugh.

"No touching her, Gregory," the gray-haired man said.

The third man released her wrist abruptly.

"No names, Lord Chavil," the man said coldly, facing him.

The Corsaire fled for it, the other servant following quickly behind her as she wrenched one of the doors open. The three men followed, crowding into the hall, Kane following, leaning against the frame, watching as she ran straight into Lord Montrose, who was coming around the corner, the second servant behind him.

Lord Montrose immediately put a hand to her throat. She froze, her hands going to his arm. He put her back to the wall, holding her there. Kane saw Lord Montrose's eyes flicker to her wrist, which was bright red with the mark of fingers on it.

"Rules are rules, gentlemen," he turned his head to say mildly. "Perhaps it is time to complete this transaction so that any impatient parties can move on with their evening."

Lord Chavil stepped forward.

"An excellent idea," he said. "I do not need more time."

His eyes went to the Corsaire, who was still against the wall, Lord Montrose holding her there. She was breathing carefully, her eyes darting. Lord Montrose slowly released her. Her hand went to her throat, staring at him.

"Go with Benoit to the room down the hall, Emma," Lord Montrose said. "He will get you some water to drink and some ice for your wrist. Your cheeks are rather flushed. I will come for you shortly."

One of the servants stepped forward, blocking the sight of her from them. He said something to her and she flinched and then walked where he indicated, her shoulders tense, still inclined to flight. The servant stayed close to her and opened the door past her, herding her through it and closing it behind himself.

"She had better be fresh as you promised," Lord Chavil said.

"I would hardly be an effective businessman if I lied about such things, now would I? Come, old friend. All of you. I will get you a drink and we will conclude this matter. It is a cause for celebration, is it not, the prospect of owning such a beautiful creature?"

The servant replenished drinks when they entered.

"Now," Lord Montrose said when they were all served. "Usually I conduct this auction privately, but since events have moved faster than usual, why don't we have it out in the open. I believe that my friend here has bid twelve hundred hecs for our dark-haired beauty Emma."

The other two men looked at Lord Chavil, who looked smug even behind the mask.

"Fifteen hundred," the man who had grabbed her wrist said.

"Seventeen," Lord Chavil immediately said.

"Eighteen."

"She is of common blood," Lord Chavil said to the man.

The other man laughed.

"And uncommon beauty," he replied, shrugging.

"Two thousand hecs," Lord Chavil said, but there was a sheen of sweat on his upper lip.

Silence. Lord Chavil looked triumphantly at the other man.

Lord Montrose looked at Kane expectantly.

"Five thousand hecs," Kane said.

It was the price of a Luterian horse, a considerable sum, but it was still just a horse. Lord Chavil looked at him and then turned back to Lord Montrose indignantly.

"Who is this man, Lord Montrose—," he began.

"I can hardly say," Lord Montrose said a little coldly. "Since all of us are anonymous here, Lord. Does that conclude the bidding?"

The other men nodded. Lord Chavil fell silent, his jaw clenching under his mask. He finally nodded.

"You have the funds with you?" Lord Montrose said to him.

Kane reached into his jacket and produced one of the packets he had there, handing it over, having already completed the exchange of much more—four more packets like it—into Alverian money, and he'd brought a Duellan ruby, which he kept on him for emergencies, valuable anywhere. He hadn't known how much it would be to buy a woman, couldn't figure how they would measure her value. Lord Montrose looked inside, estimating. He inclined his head to Kane.

"When would you like the young lady? I could have her delivered to you."

"I will take her now," Kane answered.

"You are selling Emma to a Luterian?" Lord Chavil exclaimed in horror. "They are barbarians."

"I have sold her," Lord Montrose said, putting the packet of money into a pocket. "The transaction only awaits delivery."

Lord Montrose gestured to the servant, who signaled Kane.

"Come, old friend," Kane heard Lord Montrose say behind him. "I know you're disappointed. I promise to find you another. Let me make it up to you. Have you met Bernadette?"

Kane followed the servant, who opened the door. The Corsaire was sitting in a chair, ice on her wrist, her cheeks pale now. The servant was standing behind the chair, obviously keeping an eye on her.

The Corsaire rose when they entered.

"Where is Lord Montrose?" she demanded of the servant, ignoring him.

"He will be here shortly," the servant answered.

The same servant turned to Kane.

"Lord Montrose will want to explain the situation to the young woman so there is no confusion, Lord. You are welcome to stay. It won't take long."

Kane went and sat on a chair, his fingers tapping on his knee. He wanted to go, wanted to get out of this Alverian slave house. The whole situation disgusted and depressed him. The Corsaire looked at him briefly and began pacing. He watched her. Before long, Lord Montrose came in quietly, shutting the door behind himself.

"Sit down, Emma," he said.

"I would like to return to my room, Lord Montrose. I do not think that—," she began heatedly, stepping toward him.

Lord Montrose grabbed her arm, raised his hand and slapped her, holding on to her when she cried out, stumbling. Kane kept himself relaxed. It wasn't a hard blow, surprising her more than anything, the man unwilling to bruise her, he imagined. Lord Montrose brought his face close to hers.